It was 1941 and I was finishing my second year as a student at Glendale Junior College, Glendale California, with majors in science and math. The year previous I had become intrigued by the astronomy lectures of an SDA evangelist, Elder Philip Knox, and subsequently, the first doctrinal lecture I heard happened to be on the Mark of the Beast.
That may seem like a rather abrupt introduction to the Adventist message, but I was honest enough to make the right decision. After graduating from Glendale J.C., and through the urging of my Bible worker, Oleta Butcher, I decided to attend Pacific Union College for my junior and senior years. Since I entered PUC as a junior, the counselors didn't quite know what to do with me. I had never had a Bible class in my life, but in order to graduate I had to fulfill the minimum of three courses in Bible.
Consequently, in addition to the only freshman class, Daniel and Revelation, and the only sophomore class, Old Testament, I had to take the standard junior class, Major and Minor Prophets. I had avidly read Uriah Smith's book, Daniel and Revelation, so I really shined in that class. In fact, I seemed to know more on the subject then those who had studied Bible all of their lives.
But not so with Major and Minor Prophets. I received a "D" on the first test and was ready to check out until I found out that half the class, made up mainly of ministerial students, failed the test. I think I ended up with a "C", which I gladly accepted.
My major was Physics with minors in Chemistry and Math, but since I was preparing to teach, I had to take Biology and some Education classes. I still remember the terrible smell of that shark we cut up in anatomy lab; the odor was a mixture of dead fish and formaldehyde.
In my senior year I roomed with Graham Maxwell, since the Dean thought Graham would be a better influence on this newly baptized SDA than some miscreant on the third floor of Grainger Hall. As a result, I became well acquainted with the students in the ministerial crowd who hung out in our dorm room.
I still remember when Bob Rieger locked himself out of his room, and a tall, skinny fellow by the name of Neil Wilson came along just in time to shimmy through the transom. When I broke my leg at a school picnic and was in the St. Helena Sanitarium for a number of weeks, I decided to grow a beard, which grew into a gorgeous two-pronged thing. I looked so much like a Jewish Rabbi that, when I returned to school, the ministerial club, the Sanhedrin, made me an honorary member. This honor lasted until the Dean made me shave.
